O waves of the ocean, akin to the blood in my veins,
Ye ever unfettered are coursing to other domains,
Ye ever are lonely in chillness of ebb and of flow,
And, — alone or united, — we pine in uncomforted woe.
Why may I not breathe and course on as a wave of the sea?
On earth I am lonely, and cold is the spirit in me,
I likewise am speeding to other, to other domains, —
O waves of the ocean, akin to the blood in my veins!
О, волны морские, родная стихия моя,
Всегда вы свободно бежите в иные края,
Всегда одиноки в холодном движеньи своём,
А мы безутешно тоскуем — одни и вдвоём.
Зачем не могу я дышать и бежать, как волна,
Я в мире один, и душа у меня холодна,
Я также спешу всё в иные, в иные края, —
О, волны морские, родная стихия моя!
«Lads and lasses gathering, / Willow-boughs and tapers bring, / That they homeward bear. Warmly do the flamelets glow, / Wayfarers cross them as they go; / Spring-tide scents the air. Little breeze from far away, / Rain, O rain, with tiny spray, / Quench ye not the flame. For Palm Sund...»
«Ye lists and catalogues still haunt my brain; / Before me I behold you, face on face, / Near me afresh on this unpeopled plain. Your secrets long ago I held in chase! / By lamp-light o'er the catalogue I bent, / To probe for books that scarce had left a trace; To track down names; by sylla...»
«At night, as was our wont, we sought the café. Near, / Paris aglow and drunken in its rapture swayed. / I gaze upon your face; I strive from year to year / To pierce the veil and seek the scars new wounds have made. And like a rugged sailor you to me appear, / Who in those goodly times Mag...»
«Birds of wrath with their plumage of fire all bedight / Over heaven's white portals were borne in their flight; / On the marble the fiery refulgences flared. / Then swiftly o'er ocean the wanderers fared. But upon the pure marble, the threshold unstained, / There was something unwonted that...»